I, Macbeth, have forgotten what it's like to be a noble man. My wife, Lady Macbeth, continuously questioning my manhood has led me to make some unwise decisions. Her obsession with power had developed into my own personal hell. Not that I can blame her, power can be welcoming and blinding. Soon after, her obsession became my obsession. With the three prophecies making my vision obscure, I made some decision that I normally wouldn't have. I killed actual people. Not exactly something I'd do on a regular day. Also, not exactly something I'd want to be remembered by. The greed for endless power made me misjudge and isolated from my conscience. The closer I got to reaching my greedy ambitions for power, the more further away I got from my humanity. The guilt of taking a human life lured my beloved wife into taking her own life. Some how, I believe that it's my fault. I should not have planned other deaths without consulting my wife. Per chance she could've stopped me from making more mistakes.
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